


A Porcelain Tomb

by PersonyPepper



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Creature Jaskier | Dandelion, Episode Fix-It: s01e06 Rare Species, Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Whump, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Rage, Seraphim, Songfic, Storms, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25806136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PersonyPepper/pseuds/PersonyPepper
Summary: “This here is not singing I’m just screaming in tune— farewell wanderlust, you’ve been ever so kind—”Geralt blinks up, body shaking with strain as he sees a figure through the grey of the clouds and rain. Its chest is raised towards the heavens, eyes glowing blue and fingers curled tensely as if to ask, as if to beg reason for its resolute pain.Or, Geralt regrets his words and Jaskier is a furious creature with wings.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 225





	A Porcelain Tomb

Geralt stares over the cliffside, so still as if he’ll turn to stone by just standing here, aching heart to turn into rock, into dust. The wind whips at his hair, jaw clenched, nails clawing into his palms in agony but he’s no way to express it. He hates himself for ruining the one good thing Destiny had given him by binding it to him, hates Jaskier for playing pawn in Destiny’s plan— he hates and he _hates_ and _he hates_ so much.

But he’s no statue, not even a witcher, really, just a sorrowful man nursing his broken heart as he stumbles backward towards camp. At least Jaskier will be there, waiting, wanting him though Geralt’s shit on him so badly.

Jaskier isn’t there.

He follows his scent to the camp, blinking at the space where Jaskier _should_ be. But he isn’t and Geralt hates the pang in his chest, broken heart jabbing into the walls of his skin— and if only he could bleed, if only he could _cry._

The sky cracks above him cracks— 

_a storm breaking on the horizon; of heartache, heartbreak and lust…_

Damn him, and damn that stupid song ‘cause Geralt sees it for what it is now— a fucking _warning_ , warning him away from Yennefer; fuck Jaskier, _fuck_ him.

He walks down the path, Roach trailing behind him— it’s best to get off the mountain before it starts raining in earnest. But of course, when has Destiny ever been on his side for anything, can’t even can’t keep herself from punishing him with petty ill weather.

But there’s something odd that hangs in the air behind the petrichor— something electric, something enraged almost. Geralt can taste it on his tongue as lightning flashes and thunder booms through the valley.

Lightening catches his eye again, a sharp line of sky blue so light that it’s nearly white. Something is angry, something old— he spots storm clouds swirling down ahead in the field, circling around the source of the storm, likely. 

Geralt grimaces at the sharp scent of magic, his swords secured on his back; whatever the creature is, it’s wounded, lashing out like a deer with an arrow in its side. 

"Stay here, Roach,“ he mutters, bounding down the last of the mountain and praying she’ll be okay. There’s no shelter; the only thing he can do is stop the storm, clouds dangerously close to touching the ground. Winds shove back against him as he struggles through the thicket of the swirling storm, the sound of thunder so loud it makes his head pound. 

A lovely companion to his aching heart. 

"Stop this!” He can barely hear his own voice over the roar of the rain, though he does hear the shriek, so agonized that it compliments his own pain— it’s long and changes pitch, almost as if it’s supposed to be in a tune only to be derailed and twisted by agony. 

Geralt can barely keep his eyes open, hand shielding his ambers as rain whips at them; he regrets not downing a potion or two, it’s far too loud and he can’t think with the onslaught of senses, can only stumble forward blindly. The eye of the storm can’t be too far off’ he feels like he’s walked miles.

 _“This here is not singing I’m just screaming in tune— farewell wanderlust, you’ve been ever so kind—”_

The screech of words brings Geralt to his knees, hand pressed against his sternum to soothe the resounding vibrations in his own chest. He doesn’t know if the water dripping down his face is rainwater or tears even though he knows it can’t be the latter; he can feel the horrible anger in the sound of words as they echo through him.

Geralt blinks up, body shaking with strain as he sees a figure through the grey of the clouds and rain. Its chest is raised towards the heavens, eyes glowing blue and fingers curled tensely as if to ask, as if to _beg_ reason for its resolute pain. Just a couple more steps till the eye of the storm, till the calm. 

Geralt closes his eyes, stumbling forward blindly, his entire body weight vying against the winds and finally, _finally_ , he pushes through, falling to the ground as the air swirls around him; Geralt’s hair still whips with the force of the air around them, but it’s an improvement, at least. He pants, staring up at the grey sky above him before finding his feet, facing the figure— it screams again, jaw open wide as it shouts to the sky, tears slipping down from its glowing-blue eyes. 

A red doublet flaps in the wind, fluffy brown hair plastered to pale skin as the creature sobs, his voice cracking from the agonized sound. Thunder rumbles, loud and equally violent as Jaskier’s body twists further, curling in in himself before spreading his arms wider and screaming. 

_“You brought me through this darkness but you left me here behind—”_

His teeth are bared as the end note snarls off into an unhinged scream and Geralt watches as wings as back as his eyes under Cat, flare out to block the light from the skies. The bard stumbles on his feet but never quite loses his balance; his lighting-blue eyes glow so brightly that they make Geralt’s eyes hurt as they stare, unblinking towards the heavens, wings so large they reach nearly ten hands above the witcher.

Geralt stares, his friend lost to such agony, two decades worth of magic bursting out Jaskier in his pain— has he done this? Made his friend mindless enough to lose himself to his magic, let it swallow him? 

"Jaskier, listen to me—” thunder cracks louder around them, wind whipping so violently that Geralt duly hopes the other creatures of the mountain are a ways away; their skin would be peeled off from the force of it. 

_“Remember me, remember me, remember me,”_ Jaskier yells, louder than any thunder as his half-melodic _oh’s_ delve into a screech, fingertips glowing blue as he curls them tighter nearly into fists.

Geralt wonders if he even realizes that he’s screaming the words; logically, Jaskier’s throat should be too abused to continue lending voice but the bard’s most evidently not human.

“Jaskier, fuck! Stop this!” Geralt takes a step closer, yells louder, but Jaskier’s storm only grows more violent with each of his words, and Geralt sees blood spray out with his singing, throat obviously torn raw. Perhaps not human, but the Seraphim is in his human form; he’s going to destroy everyone around him and himself if Geralt doesn’t stop this. 

On instinct, he leaps forward, wrapping his arms around the bard’s shoulders and tucking him into his chest as Jaskier stumbles again. 

It grows terrifyingly silent and for a moment, Geralt thinks Jaskier’s only paused the storm in a moment’s hesitation to unleash it at a greater force. But Jaskier collapses into him, breath heavy and limp in the embrace. His eyes still glow an alien blue but the sky is clear, nearly as bright it was before the storm though the air is humid and chill.

Geralt nearly misses his words as he holds his friend closer, Jaskier’s wings wrapping around them both. 

_“I’ve loved you for a hundred years,”_ Jaskier sings, oh-so quietly as blood drips out over his lip, staining them red, _“—certainly fucking feels like it."_

Roach’s clops grow closer, and soon she’s sitting by them, waiting. Geralt sinks to the floor, careful and gentle as he guides Jaskier into his lap, wings still curled tight around them, and he imagines them nearly brushing against the sky if extended.

“Jaskier.” The bard blinks, eyes slowly losing their glow as tired blues stare up at him, pupils wide to see in the dark under his wings.

“Gonna kill me?” His voice is so hoarse, barely any voice left in the words, actually.

Geralt blinks at him. “Why would I—”

“A good excuse to have me gone— _off your hands._ ” The witcher presses his forehead against Jaskier’s.

“I was a fool. Forgive me.” Jaskier snorts, eyes slipping shut. 

“Perhaps; if you acknowledge my pain and you idiocy, I may. We’ll see.” 

“So you’ll travel with me?” Beautiful eyes look up at him, gaze unwavering despite Jaskier’s exhaustion.

“To the ends of the world, my dear. Though, I will send you personally to hell if you dare talk to me that way again— after all I’ve done for you, you _bastard_ —” his wings flare up again, exposing them both back to world in their anger.

“I know,” Geralt’s voice is quiet, “I know. Allow me another chance.”

Jaskier hums and lets his eyes slip shut again, head resting against Geralt’s shoulder.

Geralt takes it as a yes and holds his friend closer, promising himself to do whatever it takes to ease Jaskier’s pain and rebuild their future, anything to keep them both from feeling such hurt again.

**Author's Note:**

> written for a tumblr prompt!! 
> 
> let me know what you thought <33
> 
> [Come say hi on tumblr (@persony-pepper)!](https://persony-pepper.tumblr.com)


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